"I don't agree with you. If people like to give, it shows they get a pleasure out of it, and it is folly to prevent them. But if you've set your heart upon it, Phoebe----" "Yes, I have, father." "Well, you can ask them; unless," he added, with a sudden suspicion, "you have already arranged everything." "Nothing is arranged. Thank you, father." "They will come after tea, I suppose?" "No," said Phoebe, blushing for shame; "they will come before tea." "Will they bring it with them?" "Oh, father!" "What do you mean by 'Oh, father!'? _I_ can't afford to give parties. _I_ can't afford to go to the theatres. If people have orders given to them, they have to pay for them somehow." "I can give them a cup of tea, surely, father?" "I suppose you must," he grumbled. "We shall have to make up for it afterward. What are you looking at me so strangely for?" "I should like to buy a cake for tea," said Phoebe, piteously; she was almost ready to cry, but she tried to force a smile as she added, "and I have just twopence for my fortune. Look, father: here is my purse. That won't pay for a cake, will it? Give me something for a birthday present." "To waste in cakes," he said, with a wry face. "Where should I have been if I had been so reckless? But you'll worry me to death, I suppose, if I refuse." He unlocked a drawer, and took out a little packet, which he untied. There were ten two-shilling pieces in it, and he gave Phoebe one of them, weighing them first in his hand, and selecting the lightest and oldest. "There. Never tell anybody that I am not generous to you." Phoebe turned the florin over in the palm of her hand, and eyed it dubiously; but she brightened up presently, and kissing her father, left the room with a cheerful face. CHAPTER VIII. A DAY-DREAMER IN LONDON STREETS. Now as to the Lethbridges, concerning whose characters and peculiarities it is necessary to say something more. There was Mrs. Lethbridge, whom we already know, affectionately called Aunt Leth, not only by Phoebe, but by a great many young people who were on terms of friendship with her. And to be on such terms with such a woman was worth while, for she was not only a magnet that attracted love, she was a sun that bestowed it. There was Mr. Lethbridge, for the same reason called Uncle Leth by his young friends, and delighted in being so called. There was Fanny Lethbridge, their only daughter, between whom and Phoebe passed, under the seal of sacred secrecy, the most delicious confidences. Lastly, there was Robert Lethbridge, their only son, a young gentleman of vague and unlimited views, just entering into the serious business of life, and who, when things were perfectly smooth between him and his cousin Phoebe, was addressed as Bob, and at other times, according to the measure of dignity deemed necessary, as Robert or Cousin Robert. But it was generally Bob.